


Forty Eight Hours in Halamshiral

by honeybee592



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Dom/sub, Dragon Age Big Bang, F/M, Fire play, Flogging, M/M, Predicament Bondage, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:53:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3921913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/pseuds/honeybee592
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DABB 2015! Art by <a href="http://dinojay.tumblr.com/">dinojay</a>!</p><p>Hissrad is a Moscow spy lying low after a mission he’s on goes sour. He retreats to Halamshiral, a club where he’s known as The Bull and the best Dom there is. While he’s there he gets involved with the Magister--a guy who likes playing with fire. Then later, Eve, a red head with a penchant for tease and denial. His bosses don’t know he’s there so he doesn’t have to worry about his identity being compromised. Or so he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty Eight Hours in Halamshiral

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the super awesome dinojay for choosing my story and creating such wonderful art for the piece! I love what you've done so much :D
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta readers for putting up with two months of wailing and hand wringing. 
> 
> This is my first Big Bang and it has been a great experience!

Hissrad lifted the brass knocker, let it fall against the door with a thud. Halamshiral, the plate read. The door opened.

“The Bull, so good to see you. Welcome back.”

He smiled at the hostess and followed her in. “Been a while. Good to see you, Ms. Montilyet.”

“You’re lucky we haven’t rented your room out.” Ms. Montilyet stood behind the counter, leaning on her hands, breasts pressed out.

“Aw, you’d never do that to me.”

“Just the briefcase?”

Hissrad smiled. “I travel light. Besides, all my good stuff is stored here.”

She smiled back, like she knew exactly what he meant by the ‘good stuff’ and passed him a key card. The rest of the check in followed with familiar ease as bass thrummed through the doors to the main floor. The faint whiff of weed and cigarettes wafted through, dragging a contented sigh from Bull.

“Any guests I should know about?” he asked.

The hostess tilted her head. “Well, Madame de Fer will be on the main stage later, causing knees to wobble no doubt. But her… talents probably aren’t to your tastes.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “Oh, you just missed, what’s his name…” she clicked her fingers, summoning the buried memory. “Gaspard.”

Ah, such a pity. Still, he’d find a willing partner or two before the weekend was out. He pocketed the card, about to head to the vault when Ms. Montilyet leant forward again. His eye was drawn to the cleavage popping out from her plunging yellow neckline.

“There’s always me,” she purred, slipping a finger into the neck of her dress and drawing it down slowly until one breast popped out. She circled her nipple, giving Hissrad a very appealing ‘come hither’ look.

The temptation was there. Oil up those tits, tweak her nipples while she lay back on the rack. Drip wax over her and watch her try to squirm. Whisper filthy questions in her ear. Extract confession after confession until she couldn’t take any more--

“I know where you find you.” He grinned, tapped his knuckles on the counter and went to the vault to gather his belongings.

~**~

“He’s got the case.”

“I’ll get him.”

“The case is expendable. He isn’t.”

“I said, I’ll get him.”

Under the spray of the shower, Hissrad--no _, Bull_ \--washed away his travel-weariness, watched as the suds circled the drain and slipped away. If only his last mission could disappear so easily. Lie low, he told himself. Let the fuss die down then go back and face the consequences. He wondered where Gatt was now.

Bah. He hadn’t come to Halamshiral to wallow in the bathroom. He’d come here to escape like everyone else. Here he shed the persona of Hissrad to become The Bull; a name, title, and role he was much more comfortable with, one of his own making. All sorts found their freedom in here. All tastes catered for, tame or extreme, or anywhere in between. Club, bar, hotel, and sex show all rolled into one convenient five story building. Squashed between a bank and a picture framer’s, Halamshiral stayed discrete--all the better for its exclusive clientele. Situated just outside De Wallen meant no red lights illuminated the ground floor windows. The white facade and black door looked like any of the other legitimate businesses on the street. Not that Halamshiral wasn’t legitimate--nothing happened within those walls without the explicit consent of those within. More that most of its clients required complete discretion and to be seen in one of the more gaudy clubs or brothels would spell career suicide.

Bull shut the shower off, dried himself and shrugged into his suit. Tie, or no tie? He held the gunmetal grey tie against his shirt, assessing himself in the mirror. No tie. Shirt open, just one button. Cufflinks? Nothing too ostentatious. No jacket. He fixed his patch in place, setting it over the glass eye that never looked right. Intimidation worked in his day job and he could make it work here, but eye patches were _sexy_. Satisfied that he looked handsome enough to cause a stir, he headed back down to the bar intent on a spot of people watching.

His eye caught sight of the briefcase as he headed to the door. No one back home would know that Hissrad was here but still, shouldn’t leave it out. He shoved it in the wardrobe, under the extra pillows and blankets, determined to ignore it until he had to head north.

~**~

“So, I just watch and listen.”

“Yep.”

“While people ogle at me.”

“Yep.”

“And treat me like a fetish.”

“You _do_ have glorious chest hair.”

A long sigh. “All right. But this has got to be the weirdest mission you’ve ever brought me on.”

~**~

By the time he ordered his drink, Bull’d been propositioned by a few regulars. People nodded to him as he passed, others gasping, cupping their hands to their mouths and whispering, _It’s The Bull_ to their friends. He knew some of them very well. To others, he was a rumour, a fantasy. He declined all invitations. No need to be hasty.

He settled at the bar, getting a good view of the club’s main floor. The usual lot of politicians, millionaires, heirs and heiresses, bankers and CEOs crossed the floor, milled about, chatted, kissed, groped each other. As recognisable as some of them were, in here, they were as anonymous as they needed to be. Bull’d worked with a few of the diplomats as Hissrad. He’d worked with them as The Bull, too. Worked them over, more like. The CFO of one of the world’s biggest banks gave him a wink and a wave. Nice ass on that one. Even better with her knickers on the floor.

A dwarf alone at a table looked his way, sipping his drink. A fetish piece, Bull thought. No collar though so he didn’t belong to anyone. Here on his own, perhaps. The dwarf glanced back. Bull winked. The dwarf inclined his head, inviting more. Eye fucking could be fun, but Bull wanted more than a tease.

He grabbed the attention of the barwoman. “Hey, Lace. You know who the short guy is?”

Lace’s bright eyes met Bull’s. “Hey Bull, long time no see.” Her gaze flicked towards the dwarf then back to Bull. “Yeah, him. Been here a day. Hasn’t moved much. Why, you interested?” She smirked.

He smirked back and took his leave, ambling over. Shit, the guy was even shorter close up.

“Hey there, can I join you?” Bull asked, stepping back so as not to crowd the guy.

The dwarf looked Bull up and down, eyebrow raised before giving his assent.

“You going to open with some line about whether I come here often?” the guy asked. American accent. Over for business, perhaps.

Bull chuckled. “I was going to start with my name. Bull.” He held his hand out for the dwarf to shake. “So… you come here often?”

The guy smiled. “Varric. I’d say ‘at your service’ but that’s not really my thing.”

“What _is_ your thing?”

Varric looked around the bar, taking a drink from his glass. “You guys do things differently on this side of the pond. There’s a lot more…” he waved his hand around, searching for the word. “Sex.”

Bull laughed. “Shit, yeah of course there’s sex. This is a _sex_ club. You don’t have the same set up?”

“Not entirely. Legalities et cetera. Anyway, I’ll admit that I’m a little out of my depth. Don’t get me wrong, I know the drill.” He glanced over to the main stage. “I guess I’m more comfortable just watching.”

Bull knew the feeling. New place, new people. Could take a while to settle in, get a good read of what was on offer.

“This place looks after its own,” he said. “You wanna go exploring, feel free. Ms. Montilyet, the hostess? She’ll hold your hand if needs be.”

“Well that’s comforting.”

Bull kept up the small talk for a few more minutes, getting an idea of how long Varric was in town, whether he’d do any sightseeing, places to avoid (“Here’s a tip for free: don’t mix your booze and weed. You’ll end up in the canal”), directing him to the best restaurants. But the guy wasn’t interested in anything extra and Bull couldn’t coax him into any of Halamshiral’s smaller rooms so they made their goodbyes. Ah, probably for the best. The mat of chest hair kept Bull from really wanting to find out what made the guy tick.

But something about him didn’t sit right with Bull. Wasn’t the people-watching; loads did that, no problem. More the way his eyes followed Bull, like he was listening carefully and committing their conversation to memory. Stopping by the bar again, Bull asked Lace to keep an eye out for the guy before getting a top-up and heading over to the side rooms to see what potential awaited him.

~**~

“Give him a work out. Get him tired, wear him out and if the mood is right, strike.”

“You know I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Just--look out for yourself, all right? Once you’re in, you’re on your own.”

“Yes mum. I have done this before you know.” A pause. “But, do you really think turning him here is a good idea? We’ve tried before, the Chinese, too. He’s killed agents who’ve suggested he turn.”

“Dorian, please. Those people went about it the wrong way. He knows he’s in trouble; that’s why he’s lying low. But that won’t be enough. You make a start and I’ll finish him off.”

~**~

Bull wandered through some of the smaller rooms, casting his eye over the scenes, the people, getting a feel for what delights Halamshiral held this evening--or was it morning? All concepts of day and night vanished behind blacked out windows and thrumming bass.

Some audiences he passed through were quiet, avidly watching a scene with short, silent breaths. But laughter and hoots came from one room. Bull stuck his head through to see what was going on. A lesson in bondage from the looks of it. The woman in the centre of the room held a red rope in both hands, strutted around in heels as she incorporated humour into her lesson. Bull took in the scene for a moment before continuing on his quest to find something that got the blood pumping.

He found what he wanted in the last room. A lean, muscled guy blindfolded and gagged, stretched out in the centre of the room. His feet were held apart by one mean looking spreader bar; his arms above his head, cuffed to a solid ring. He couldn’t go anywhere and from the direction his cock pointed he didn’t look like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Bull slipped in, found a spot to watch from. He had a good view from the side; could see the sub’s face as well as his ass, gorgeous and round, tanned and ready for the astounding array of floggers and paddles laid out on the table beside him--and one thin, harsh cane. His Dom had already warmed him up: a light blush graced those cheeks.

The Dom picked up one of the floggers. Suede. Wouldn’t sting too much. Thud, more like, deep within the muscle. He rested his hand on the sub’s shoulder, whispered something in his ear. The groan that came out between the gag had Bull’s cock taking an interest.

 _Smack_.

The sub jumped. As did half the audience.

Smack, again and again over that tight ass. The sub howled through his gag, nostrils flared as he sucked in air through his nose. Loud, this one. Bull might’ve preferred the guy stay as silent as possible, but this wasn’t his show.

The scene continued, flogger swapped for a paddle, then the cane. The Dom rubbed his sub’s cheeks and thighs after each smack. The moans, muffled and desperate leaked out from the sub. His cock bounced, leaking precum. Skin red, welts coming up. Still the Dom didn’t let up. Bull had to give both of them credit. The Dom had exquisite wrist action, perfect in its execution. And shit, the amount the sub could take. He held something in each hand. Keys perhaps. Something he could drop to slow or stop the scene. Still, the Dom checked in, rubbing his ass and shoulder, whispering in his ear and waiting for a nod before continuing, upping the tempo.

Just how much more could the guy take? He whimpered--quiet now, tears staining the blindfold, streamed over his cheeks. His cock throbbed with every smack. Bull’s mouth watered at the sight.

Finally the Dom cupped his hand over the sub’s cock, rubbed it, told him to come. He did, sobbing, legs shaking, cuffs rattling. Once his shuddering had slowed his ankles were unlocked and hands unclipped. With a robe draped over his shoulders, he was lead to an alcove, a quiet space just for Dom and sub.

Quiet conversation struck up now that the scene had wrapped up. Bull scanned the room, looking for the tell-tale glaze in the eyes of someone who would like a similar treatment. He spotted a woman he knew, but another held her leash. Claimed. Such a pity.

“The way he wielded that flogger. Oh! It makes the skin all tingly just thinking about it.”

Bull glanced at the voice beside him. Handsome. He seemed to almost be talking to himself, rocking on his heels. But he turned to smile up at Bull. Those eyes spelled mischief.

“I’ve been bereft of a good thrashing. Seeing that gorgeous derriere turn red… And those welts. Ouch!”

Bull eyed the guy up and down. Thin waxed moustache, perfect hair. Immaculate suit. Designer, _and_ tailored. A silver watch peeked out from under his cuffs. Nice. Suede shoes, definitely. Whoever he was, he had style as well as money. And he could take a measured flogging, it seemed. Bull glanced at him again, picturing him in that suit a little rumpled, silk tie keeping him from mouthing off too much, shirt buttons undone, fly undone, laces undone. Oh, yes. Bull could see him now.

“I’m The Bull. And you are...”

“Oh, I know who you are.” He laughed. “Me? They call me the Magister.” The guy smiled, corner of his lips upturned like he was about to let Bull in on a joke.

Bull grinned like a kid at Christmas. He knew the joke. “I hear you can swallow fire.”

The Magister chuckled. “Among other things.” He leaned towards Bull, shoulders brushing. “How about I show you,” he said, voice low.

Bull’s cock throbbed. “Shall we discuss this somewhere more… private?” he asked. “My room, perhaps. No obligations of course.”

“Of course.” The Magister grinned, feral, and lead him back through the main bar. “However, my room would be more conducive to negotiations. Madame Celene gets ever so pissy when I set the curtains on fire so I have a room made up that is more… conducive to my talents.”

The way the guy dropped his voice at the end of his sentences set butterflies off in Bull’s chest. The Magister. He’d heard of him and all his snarky delights. Never seen him in person. Bull would enjoy having his patience and limits tested by this beautiful man. He’d make a mess of him by the end of it.

*

“You weren’t kidding about the room.” The place was massive. And tiled. Where Bull’s room had an array of furniture lining the walls and a huge bracketed bed in the centre, this one was… sparse. Eye bolts in the ceiling along with more than the minimum number of sprinklers. More bolts on the walls. No curtains, just simple shades. And a small bed. How was Bull supposed to get any traction with that tiny thing?

The Magister stood back, hands on his hips and admired the room. “It certainly is unique,” he said.

Just how much damage did this guy do?

The Magister huffed. “Madame Celene overreacting, I’m afraid. It’s all very controlled. Just once did things get a little… out of hand. Not my fault at all. The gentleman panicked when the flash cotton started going up and well, let’s just say he ran out the room starkers leaving me in a somewhat compromising position.” He laughed. “No harm done. No _lasting_ harm, anyway. All fun and games.” He stepped up to Bull, pressed a finger to Bull’s chest. “Want to have some fun?”

Bull growled, taking the Magister’s hand in his. “Oh, yeah. But ground rules first. And I haven’t done fireplay before. Seen plenty.”

“The fire is pretty simple, really. More for show than causing any real pain.” The Magister demonstrated by lighting a match and waving his hand through it. “See? Doesn’t hurt.”

Bull knew it wouldn’t hurt, but he held his palm over the flame anyway. He lowered his hand until the heat became too much. He whipped back, flexing his fingers.

“Too much like that and you’ll do yourself an injury. Now, being as talented as you are, I’m sure you’re more than capable of setting my nerves on fire in the most delicious ways.” He eyed Bull up and down. “Unfortunately I’ve been burnt--excuse the pun--too many times for me to want to hand my gorgeous body over to someone without the requisite experience in wielding fire."

Fair enough. That didn’t mean he couldn’t get an impromptu lesson though.

At Bull’s request, the Magister showed off a few more tricks. First, flash cotton. Setting a tuft of fabric on Bull’s palm, he held a match to it. It went up with a whomph, a flash of orange. Pretty. The shock was more in the suddenness than the feeling. Just a little heat.

“That is badass.”

The Magister removed Bull’s cufflinks, rolled his shirt sleeve up, dabbed a cloth against the mouth of a silver bottle. He wiped a strip along the inside of Bull’s arm, followed by a lit match. Flames licked his skin, warm but not burning, a long trail followed by his hand, putting it out.

“ _That_ is badass.”

“Combined with a flogger, it is _very_ badass, as you put it.”

Bull’s curiosity got the better of him. “Why matches? I’ve got a lighter.”

The Magister held a match up, setting the head on the box, the end under his middle finger. With his index finger he flicked the match, setting it alight as it sailed across the room to land on the tiled floor before going out.

“I like the sound,” he said simply. “It’s primal, fire is. Ignites something deep within, a long lost memory of sitting around in caves banging sticks together.”

Bull could get that.

The Magister stood up, loosened his tie and started undoing his shirt buttons.

“I’ll give you a good show. Warm us both up for the main event.” The Magister’s lips curled into a smirk that had Bull’s stomach flip with anticipation. “But first, a few more requirements…”

For seasoned guests at Halamshiral the negotiations went smoothly. No fuss, quick and direct. They both had carefully cultivated reputations for following rules, no matter just how cruel or painful the activities became.

The Magister’s requirements were simple: Bull should sit back and watch the show, warm himself up and then warm the Magister up, set his skin on fire with a flogger--red and orange. How appropriate.

“And our safe words?” Bull asked.

“Let’s keep it traditional. Red, yellow, green.”

Bull nodded, eager to make a start. He set his hands on the Magister’s shoulders, digging his fingers and thumbs in, a firm indication of what would follow. His palms slid down, pulling his tie free from the collar. He threw it on the bed.

“For later?” The Magister asked with a quirk to his lips.

Bull merely shrugged. “Undress me,” he growled.

The Magister’s back snapped straight, smooth chest exposed.

“At once.” Even under orders the guy didn’t lose the snark. Bull’d thrash it out of him.

The Magister had to stand on tiptoes to reach Bull’s shoulders. He very deliberately felt up Bull as he undid the first button. Bull rested his hands on the Magister’s his bony hips as the rest of Bull’s buttons came undone. Such delicate fingers, nails clipped short and buffed to a shine.

The Magister cooed as he revealed Bull’s skin, fingertips ghosting over the muscle.

“No touching,” Bull ordered. He helped shrug off his shirt, watched as the Magister walked away to hang it up. Such care. No point crumpling such fine tailoring. Bull got a good look at the Magister’s chest and back as he walked. Toned and tan. Not much definition but enough to let Bull know that he made an effort to look after himself.

He stood before Bull, hands on hips, giving Bull’s crotch a knowing look. Ah, what the hell. May as well indulge the guy.

“Knees.”

The Magister fell to his knees, making quick work of the belt and fly before him. Bull’s trousers fell to the floor, socks peeled off. He kicked them away and rested his hand on the back of the Magister’s head, fingers raking through thick black hair.

The Magister looked up, expression expectant as he licked his lips. Bull nudged him forward, groaning as he ground his semi against his partner’s face. He felt the suck, the kisses to his cock and balls over his underwear. He held that head steady, getting off on the muffled groans against his sack. Not for long though.

“Enough.” He took a fistful of hair and pulled the Magister back. “Can you do your thing naked?”

“Of course.”

“Do it.”

The Magister grinned, getting to his feet. He picked up Bull’s trousers, hanging them up along with his own. Socks and underwear placed aside too. Well would you look at that. A Prince Albert. Smooth, too. Hair free on his arms, legs, back. And his balls. Not Bull’s thing, personally but he had to admire anyone who let wax strips on his balls. Bull’s own cock twitched at the sight. And the tattoos. Flames licking the Magister’s flanks. Another wrapped around his forearm, just far enough up his wrist to remain covered by a shirt sleeve.

With no time wasted, the Magister had himself ready, directing Bull back to a safe distance. Bull declined to sit, preferring to stand and watch.

With the lights dimmed the Magister lit the first wand. Bull blinked at the bright yellow flash. Pounding bass vibrated the air at the same time, setting Bull’s skin alight. The Magister twirled the lit stick in a great arc above him before tilting his head back and lowering the flame into his mouth, snuffing it out.

Bull grew harder as the show continued, surprised at just how erotic the flames could be. The swirling glow gave a tantalising snapshot of skin as the flaming staff spun through the air. The cock piercing sparkled--the only sliver of silver on show.

Time passed with the blur of the fire. The beat of the drums merged with the rhythm of the fire, so tangible that Bull might even reach out and touch it. The two men became one as Bull found himself in the centre of a throbbing, whirling ring of fire as the Magister danced around him. Yeah, this was primal all right. A surge of lust shot through Bull setting his veins alight. The need to dominate, control the fire and the man swelled in him.

The Magister came to a stop in front of Bull, eyes fierce, shadows crossing his face as the flame danced. With two quick breaths the fire was extinguished and the music stopped. Darkness engulfed Bull. The silence loud in his ears. From somewhere in front of him the Magister cackled, eerie in the gloom.

Bull clapped, a steady smack piercing the air.

More. Now.

Before long that steady smack met the Magister’s ass. Strung up where he’d just been wielding fire, standing on tiptoes with his feet locked into a spreader bar. Bull’d put that tie to use, wrapped around the Magister’s head, between his teeth. His hands were tied above him, wrists bound with rope looped through an eye-bolt in the ceiling. Bull slipped a yellow stone into the Magister’s fist, a red one into the other. Only took a few minutes for his knuckles to turn white. His muscles strained with the effort to stay on his toes, calves and thighs toned and tight. Adams apple bobbing as his head hung back, exposing his throat. The veins in his arms bulged, accentuating his build. Taut abs, taut groin. With every flick from the flogger his muscles went even tighter.

To give him a break from the pain, Bull slicked up a plug. Not massive but would help stretch him out. The magic came with the lube: something that would burn--like figging without the ginger.

Bull pressed a hand over the Magister’s ass, smearing lube around his entrance before easing the plug in. The groans coming out from between that tie set Bull off. He owned this guy. Only he could make his partner feel like this, lose himself in the moment, lose himself to Bull and only Bull. The guy was at Bull’s mercy and Bull would make sure he loved every second of it.

With the plug settled and a check in complete, Bull set to reddening those cheeks and thighs again. The groans reached a high pitch, arms shaking. Bull let up when the yellow stone fell from the Magister’s hand, clattering on the tile floor.

He paused, loosened the tie, shoving it down.

“Talk to me.”

After a few shuddering breaths the Magister spoke, voice croaking. “I… fuck. Need a minute. My God, it burns. You’re brutal.”

Bull frowned as he stroked the Magister’s back. Brutal was good, sure, and this guy could clearly cope. But something rankled Bull.

“I’m taking the plug out. Perhaps work you over a bit longer though. I want to get that cock of yours leaking.”

At those words a bead of precome seeped out of the Magister’s cock. He whined while Bull laughed.

“You beat me to it.” He smiled, pulling the plug out and smoothing his hand over the red cheeks.

“You’re the one doing the beating,” the Magister replied.

Bull snorted. He considered his options. He did say he’d stop once the precome came. And shit, with a change of position and a little attention, that ass would be ready for him. He was more than ready for it.

With quick careful moves, Bull unlocked the spreader bar, adjusted the rope in the eyebolt and let the Magister down on his feet. His hands came next, untied and rubbed as the blood flowed back through. With a tenderness that wouldn’t last for long, Bull lead him over to the bed, lying him down on his chest and rubbing soothing lotion over his stinging cheeks.

When the Magister started grinding against the sheets, Bull ordered him up on his hands and knees while Bull knelt at the head of the bed, thin rope in his hands. The Magister had said ‘no’ to leaving his body exposed to an inexperienced fire wielder. But Bull had an idea; something that would involve the thrill of the flames but grant the Magister complete control. Bull made sure the Magister watched as he got him to put his hands palm to palm, fingers to fingers, parted. He wound the rope, weaving in and out between his fingers until only his perfectly manicured nails showed.

Bull grabbed a box of matches, lit one, held it up to the Magister. His eyes went wide, soft orange light highlighting the sheen of sweat over his face, moustache, and now unkempt hair.

“Now just what do you think you’re going to do with that?” he asked.

Bull heard the nerves under the bravado as he let the match burn down until it reached his fingertips. He hissed, blowing it out and flicking it away. Bull lit another match, smirked as he looked at the Magister. He gave an uneasy grin of his own. Bull pressed the match between the Magister's bound index fingers, wedging it enough to stay put.

“Fuck.” Barely a whisper. The Magister's eyes flicked from the match to Bull and back again. “What am I supposed to do with this, hmm?”

“Blow it out.” Bull said simply. “Or say the word.”

When the Magister didn’t move Bull blew the match out, not wanting to hurt him. The Magister sighed, head dipped for a moment before he looked back up, his jaw tight.

“Again,” he said. Full of conviction this time.

Bull struck another match and slipped it back in place. Together they watched it burn down, eyes drawn to the flame creeping down the match, second by second. Only a couple of millimetres left now. The Magister's lips pursed, eyes squeezing shut a moment before opening wide. One quick puff and the flame went out. Bull removed the match and closed his lips over the index fingers, curling his tongue over as much as he could.

(Art by [dinojay](http://dinojay.tumblr.com/post/119384964500/playing-with-fire-iron-bull-dorian-pavus-for))

“You are a diabolical paragon.” The Magister sighed.

“I’ve been called worse.” Bull smirked. "Nice work, by the way. A real bonding moment."

The Magister scowled, raising an eyebrow at Bull's faux sarcasm. His features slipped into a grin though and Bull knew he hadn't stepped over the line. Too far.

“You ready for more?” Bull asked.

“You’d better mean fucking because yes. I am ready. God knows I’m ready.”

“Good thing God’s not the one calling the shots, then.”

Bull patted the Magister’s head and went around to the end of the bed, nudging his knees wider. He took his time loosening him up, sticking to a more conventional lube this time. After what he’d been through, the guy deserved a little pampering.

Bull slipped his fingers out, sure he was now ready. With his cock wrapped up he eased his way in, hands on hips, going slow. They both groaned, the Magister pushing back. Bull dug his fingers into his hips, holding him steady. Once he was seated he took a moment, let the Magister adjust. Then pressed one large hand between those shoulder blades, pushing them further into the bed.

Bull fucked the Magister ferociously. The Magister’s howls only fuelled him on. He thrust hard and fast, not letting up, allowing himself to let go, let that carefully cultivated control slip just enough to take him to the edge.

He leant over the Magister, chest to back, one hand planted next to the bound fingers.

“Need a hand?” he growled.

“Please. Yes,” the Magister replied, desperate and broken.

Bull knelt back up, continuing his pounding as he kept one hand on his partner’s ass and wrapped the other around his cock, pumping at a rhythm just off from his thrusts. The Magister didn’t seem to care. He came with a shuddering groan all over Bull’s hand and the sheet below him. Bull wiped his hand on the bed and took up his position again, both hands on hips. He’d have to finish soon before he fucked the guy too raw. Finishing wasn’t a problem though. With two hard thrusts Bull came, roaring as he emptied himself. The Magister wailed under him, trembling.

Silence crowded the pair, pulling them closer together. Calm after chaos. The new sound spelled a change in tone.

With quiet delicacy, Bull pulled out, wrapping and chucking the condom before taking a moment to stretch and pop his joints. The Magister flopped over to his back, his hands above his head, still bound. His chest heaved, eyes closed, golden skin slick with sweat. He had a faint smile on his face and that just made Bull grin. He quietly unbound his fingers, squeezing each one.

After downing a jug of water the Magister pulled the blanket over himself. Bull tugged it up further, drying him off and rubbing him down. He slipped in beside him, best he could in the small bed. Time to relax. Enjoy the haze and tingly skin.

The Magister stretched, running his foot down Bull’s leg. He looked like a cat waking up from a sleep, all stretched out, long limbs getting longer. He reached out, waved a tobacco pouch in Bull’s direction. “Smoke? Nothing quite like a joint after a good fuck.”

Bull shook his head but let the Magister go for it. Made him too fuzzy, hit him too hard. Smelled pretty damn good though.

“The Dutch are so enlightened. I swear half the reason I come here is to smoke without compunction. Wouldn’t do to get caught back home.” The Magister sucked away, talking more to himself than Bull. “I’m sure I could buy my way out of a conviction but it’s not worth the hassle. Better to cross the Channel once every couple of months and get my hit. Goes for this place too.” He gave a small laugh and looked up at Bull. “How long are you around for?” he asked, all dozy.

Bull stroked his shoulder. “Couple of days. Maybe longer. We’ll see. Might not spend it all downstairs.”

“So I might see you around?”

Bull didn’t like the note of hope in the Magister’s voice. He might not be a fuck ‘em and chuck ‘em kinda guy, but he wasn’t one for repeat performances so soon after the first. “Might do,” he said, staying as noncommittal as possible.

“Back to the daily grind come Monday, hmm?”

“Something like that.”

The Magister blew a series of smoke rings into the air.

“This is my favourite way to relax,” he said. “Here, I can be myself.” He waved his arm in a great arc, a trail of smoke following. “Halamshiral: where fantasies become reality. They should stick that on the door.” After a pause and a frown he continued. ”Here I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. Right now I’m free from the crushing constraints of the everyday.” He let out a short laugh. “Funny how being bound in rope is an escape from that.”

Bull grunted. “You can enjoy your day job. I do. No shame in that.”

The Magister twisted so he looked Bull dead in the eye. His expression screamed stoned earnestness. “But don’t we all live for the weekend? To let our hair down?” He reached up and rubbed Bull’s bald scalp. Too far gone to appreciate the irony of his question. He settled back down, half leaning on Bull.

Living for the weekend. Yeah. That’d be nice. Being an undercover agent wasn’t a nine-to-five job though. Fortunately for Bull, he lived for his job, his country. He had the sweet fortune of often being paid to mix business with pleasure. And he was damn good at it too. He could twist the truth out of anyone without them even knowing he was doing it. Still, even great jobs had their shit parts. Like the mission he was resolutely trying to keep in the back of his mind. But try as he might, Bull’s mind wandered as he came back down from his endorphin high.

Had he wiped all the blood off his knife?

Had he removed all evidence that he’d been there?

Had he thoroughly looted the bodies? What if they’d been bugged?

And where the fuck had Gatt run to?

The Magister hmmed beside him, all happy and content. “I’m just going to lie here a while and revel in the feeling. I’ll be fine, should you wish to leave.”

“You sure? Can I get you anything? I’ll stick around longer if you want.”

The Magister turned, looking up at Bull. “You really have lived up to your reputation.” All soft and doe eyed. What a beauty. “You are a treasure. I said I’ll be fine. Go. You’re not here long so make the most of it.”

They watched each other as Bull dressed. An itch had been scratched--for the moment. He’d go back to his room, grab a shower and a rest, then see what else he could find to satisfy his cravings.

~**~

“Get anything?”

“Apart from rope burns? Not really.”

“Dorian! You’re supposed to be taking this seriously. We _need_ him.”

“And we will get him, Nightingale. Can’t rush these matters. You’ve got to drag it out a bit, tease him, tempt him. I was merely the entree. Eve will be the main course.”

A grumble from Varric. “That better not make me dessert.”

“Please. You were the hors-d'oeuvre.”

“Both of you shut up. Dorian. Go brief Eve with whatever you can. Hissrad won’t rest long.”

“All right, all right. Let me put some pants on first.”

~**~

Bull closed the door to his room behind him, rubbed his face and stripped off his shirt. Shit, he felt tired. Food and sleep, then he’d be good to go again. As he called room service, he checked the case was still in the wardrobe. He nudged it with his foot.

Nothing would be gained in trying to open the case. Just from looking at the lock he knew it would be above him. At least he’d saved it. If anything, that should count in his favour. He just hoped Moscow would agree.

He covered the case again and glanced at his watch. Enough time for a quick shower while he waited for his order.

A knock on the door came as he towelled himself off. Damn, even more tired than he thought if he’d been in the shower that long. Not like the Magister had set a brutal pace. Maybe he was getting old. He tipped the server and set the tray on the table. Peppermint tea washed down the toast and croissants. Nothing fancy, just enough to take the edge of his hunger.

Satisfied, he shucked his robe and settled into bed. Rest a couple hours then back downstairs to see what the new day brought.

~**~

“Information exchange. Simple. You’re there to lend credibility, earn trust. “

“And the 'Secretary to the Associate Minister of Trade' is enough to lend credibility these days, huh?”

“A delegation from Moscow--no matter how unofficial--still needs credibility. And you’ll have Gatt, along with five other low-level recruits.”

“Ah, Gatt. Haven’t seen him since we hit up that billionaire's place back in--uh, yeah. What’s the plan?”

A below the radar deal with a new ally; strengthen diplomatic ties without the diplomacy. The kind of deal the world ran on. None of that flashy treaty signing between two leaders with tight smiles and grudging handshakes. Sure, that shit made for a good show. Meant the real deal making could go on without meddling.

In practical terms, that meant getting a Soviet-era train to a border town with five guys in ill-fitting suits stinking of homemade vodka and praying he’d get to leave with his fur-lined coat still on his back.

Because underhand deals aren’t made in front of a thousand cameras, there are no witnesses to what goes down during an information exchange. At least, that’s how Hissrad preferred it. No fingerprints: he wore gloves. No blood of his own. Couldn’t do much about the pools forming under the bodies on the floor. Perhaps some local kids would get to the coats before the officials did.

“Well this is fucked up.” He slipped his knife back into its sheath.

“Do you understand what you’ve done?” Gatt stared at the bodies.

Hissrad shrugged. Not much he could do about it now. He held up the briefcase. Better contain some useful shit for the lives lost today. “Got the intel, didn’t we?”

“At what cost?” Gatt looked up at him, eyes hollow, full of fear.

Hissrad glared back. “For fucks sake, Gatt. Information exchange. That’s what I was told. Not ‘take the information from the new ally and then kill them.’ These drunken dick wads Moscow gave me shot first. Whether our boys were acting on orders or they were still piss-drunk, I don’t know. But I sure as shit didn’t want to die out in the ass-end of nowhere for the cost of a bottle of fermented potatoes.”

He checked the dead for valuables and anything that could incriminate his government. Not much he could do about the bodies but this wasn’t exactly an on-the-books trip. He’d have to come up with a story for the media, something about a stag-do gone wrong, perhaps.

Gatt kept an eye on the door as Hissrad pulled out passports and wallets, removed rings and watches. The way Gatt jumped about, rubbing his hands, his attention snapping at any sound had Hissrad nervous.

“Lie low a few days,” he said. “Let this shit die down. I’ll meet you back in Moscow and together we’ll minimise the damage.”

Gatt shook his head, stepping backwards. “You’re on your own, Hissrad. I’m not having any part of this.” He slipped out the door, leaving Hissrad alone in a backwater train station waiting room with the stiffening bodies of allies and enemies. Just which was which wasn’t exactly clear.

~**~

Bull threw back the blankets, shivering as the air hit his sweat soaked body. Shit, he needed to get his head in the game. Rubbing the sleep from his eye, blinking away the memory of the mission, he stared at the St Andrew’s cross on the wall opposite. Be nice for it to see some action. He had time to find someone, no need to rush.

Rested and replenished, Bull headed back downstairs. Varric sat at the same table as before, fingers drumming against the top as he leaned back, eyes on the main stage.

And Lace wasn’t behind the bar. Damn.

“Lace around?” he asked the new bartender. He didn’t like this guy as much, as luscious as that beard was.

The bartender eyed Bull. “You’ve just missed her.” Looked like that was all he had to say but he stopped chopping limes to lean forward. He looked from side to side before meeting Bull’s eye. “But she told me to tell you--now let me get this right--she said, ‘You-know-who asked for _ice_ in his single malt.’ Disgusting.”

Bull laughed, ordered an apple juice and made a beeline for Varric.

“Hows’it?” He sat down without invitation, stretched back in the chair. Varric looked a little startled but composed himself quickly enough.

“Same old, same old.” He smiled though the grin didn’t reach his eyes.

“Doesn’t look like you’ve moved from this spot since I last saw you. Still content on just watching?” Bull scanned the guy for any sign of discomfort, any tells that might give him a clue as to what the guy was doing here.

Varric took in the scene, leaning back to match Bull’s pose. “I’m close to the bar and I’ve got an uninterrupted view of the stage. What more could a man really ask for?” His grin reached his eyes this time, a gold tooth catching a glint off the stage lights.

Bull could think of a few things. A change in the music and the spotlight on the stage told Bull the main act was about to start. He bade Varric farewell with a friendly threat to his cosy position should Bull catch him in the same place again and headed back to the bar. He took a stool at the bar, ordered a Bloody Mary. His blood fizzled as Madame de Fer strutted onto the stage.

Ah, Madame de Fer. That woman oozed dominance. All lace and sharp lines, perfect makeup, not a blemish marred her features. Cold, calculating eyes pierced all who dared to stare at her. No one disobeyed her. Those who pushed their luck would be smartly whipped into line. She wasn’t for everyone, but she could be for some.

With the cooperation of her big-breasted model, Madame de Fer set to work tying and binding, attaching loops. Even at this distance Bull could see the practiced deliberateness as her long fingers worked, pulling the ropes tight with a yank. She looked gorgeous in her ivory corset and panties. The matching high heels accentuated the length of her legs. She could do some damage with those heels--as Bull knew all too well.

The crowd watched, rapt, as the model was suspended in the air by ropes around her torso, legs open, wanting. But this was just a show. More sensual than sexual. She wouldn’t tease too much, wouldn’t get her sub squirting all over those pretty ropes. Just enough of a display to make the audience ache, maybe get one or two interested in her.

She set the model swinging, drawing an ‘ooh’ from the crowd. She looked out at her admirers, eyes sparkling and skin twinkling in the stage lights. She caught Bull’s eye (or so he thought), gave him a wink before turning back to the woman before her.

Bull’s mouth watered, tilting his head as he flicked his attention down to her shoes. Smooth leather. Wouldn’t taste like anything but that wouldn’t stop him from begging to be allowed to lick them. God, he loved that woman. She could turn Bull into the most depraved animal. She’d last had him on his knees with her strutting around, back straight, smacking her cane against her palm, his cock and heart thumping to the beat.

He didn’t need that punishment today though. Bull’s muscles twitched, fingers itching around an imaginary cane. He regarded Madame de Fer again. Perhaps the two of them could team up one time.

He lifted his glass to his lips only to find the glass empty. Damn. He turned on his stool to flag down the bartender but his attention got caught by the woman sitting next to him. When had _she_ turned up? Bull checked her out, eyeing the buttons on her shirt. How demure. Toned thighs and calves appeared from under her skirt. Some flimsy pink material that could be hiked up and tucked into panties, he thought. Simple flats on otherwise bare feet. Her fingers toyed with the stem of a sadly empty wine glass. He looked up, intending to ask if he could offer a refill when he realised he’d been caught staring. She smiled at him, chin cupped in her hand as her elbow rested on the bar top.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” Well, what else was he going to say?

“Can I get you a drink?” She nodded to his empty glass.

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I asked first.”

“Only because I was distracted.” Bull checked her out again, blatant this time.

She smirked and caught the attention of the bar tender. “Another merlot and whatever the Bull wants.”

“Same again, please.” Bull turned to the woman, “Didn’t know we’d made it past the introductions.”

She held her hand out. “Eve. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Firm handshake. “And you’re the Bull.”

‘My reputation precedes me, I see.”

“Indeed.”

Bull nudged his foot her way, resting it on her stool. She shifted her leg so it touched his.

“Think we might have some mutually beneficial interests?” he asked, leaning in. He caught a whiff of her perfume. Subtle.

She leant in too. Her shirt buttoned all the way to her neck. No chance to being pulled into her cleavage. Her face demanded his full attention.

“I believe we may be able to provide each other mutual relief.”

Bull took a sip of his drink. Her eyes never left his. Green, he thought, though the light in the bar was too low for him to be certain. “Since you seem to know what I’m all about, how about you go first.”

Her eyes glittered, lips on the rim of her wine glass. Her foot brushed against his leg, sliding up ever so carefully.

“I like to be teased. Exposed, revealed inch by inch. Layers peeled back with excruciating tenderness until I’m left open… and wanting… and craving _more_.” She spoke low, voice molten. “I want you to take your time, really take your time. I’m all about testing the limits of both our endurances. You can tie me up. Blindfold me, if you like. Stress positions are _good_. On my feet or on my knees, back, your choice. I like to be kept guessing.” She took a sip of wine. “What about you? What gets you going?”

“Being whatever you need me to be.” Taking his partners apart, watching them pant, cry, groan, laugh under his touch, knowing that _he_ was the one to give that escape-- _that_ was what Bull lived for. Sure, his preference was for the smack of an open palm or paddle and a few curt words, but being presented with this tantalising woman asking for tease and denial? Well, who was he to turn down such a request?

Eve raised her eyebrow. “You sound too perfect to be true.” She teased, but her hesitation could be read in the way she leaned back, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He had to reel her back in, quick. With his hand on the bar, he entered her personal space. “I make no claims to perfection. But I _am_ the best. Don’t doubt that.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You doubt me but you don’t need to. I want to make you come alive.” He dropped his voice so she’d have to lean in to hear. “You want me to lay you bare, open you up and take you far away.”

Her eyes were glazed as she gave a slow nod.

“Can do.” Bull stood, holding his arm out for her. She looped her arm in his and together they headed for the stairs.

~**~

“Think she’ll be all right?”

“She knows how high the stakes are.”

“Yes, but maybe we should’ve bugged his room. Just in case”

“No. Halamshiral would not stand for that. We’re already pushing Halamshiral’s etiquette. If we get caught--”

“We won’t get caught. You worry too much. She’ll get him.”

~**~

Eve wandered the room, running her hands over the cross, the rack. Her inspection ended at the bed, eyeing the iron frame up and down with her hands on her hips.

“You really like the dungeon style. Punishment, discipline. Obedience.” She pursed her lips, just for a moment before running her tongue over them, plumping them up again.

Bull stayed where he was, giving her space. “Like I said, I can be whatever you need me to be.”

Her attention snapped to him. “What if _I’m_ not what you need?”

“Then you wouldn’t have gotten this far.” He closed the distance now, stopping close enough that she had to tilt her head up to meet his eye. Damn she smelt good.

“I don’t beg. I won’t be humiliated or used or gagged. No come on me. I’m not sold on pain in of itself but sensations are good. Hot, cold, sharp, soft. I like to feel wholly possessed.” She raked her gaze down, then back up. “You’re… bigger than most, so I might need some time to work up to feeling safe with all this body around me. But I trust you.”

Confident and in control. Good. Pity about the disinterest in pain. Should’ve been a deal breaker but the allure of this woman made Bull suspect he’d be missing out on something wonderful if he let her go back downstairs. Endurance, then. Teased and denied. He had ice cubes in the freezer. Candles, too. He could cuff her wrists to the headboard and her ankles to her thighs. He could bind her. Yes, she looked like the rope type of woman.

Once they’d confirmed further limits and established their safe words, the tension in the air dropped. No more testing each other out like they had at the bar. This wouldn’t be a game like it had been with the Magister. No act to put on, no mask. Bull could be himself around Eve, devote himself to her pleasure. He’d make sure she left here with his name on her lips and his memory seared into her soul.

Bull took his time peeling Eve from her clothes. As each layer came away she relaxed, face serene while Bull remained acutely aware of every twitch and tremble. He knelt before her, kissed her fingertips, told her she looked beautiful before standing up and taking her by the hand, leading her to a padded bench. He held his hand out and helped her up.

“Gotta give myself a break. Not as limber as I once was,” he explained.

“Missing eye. Missing fingers. From the way you hold that leg I’m guessing a bone or two never set right. Ankle or knee? Must give you hell in the cold.”

Bull smirked, shaking his head slowly, impressed with just how damn _good_ she was. Perhaps he should’ve been more concerned about just how damn good she was but right now he found himself more than a little distracted. “Ankle. And you,” he brushed his thumb down the bridge of her nose then over her nipple. “Septum piercing and nipple ring. But no more?”

“The scars of a misspent youth. I’m such a grown up now. My teachers would be _so_ proud of me.” She laughed at her own sarcasm.

Bull kissed her before stepping back and stripping down to his underwear. Eve licked her lips, eyes roving, no doubt wondering where each and every one of the scars that marred Bull’s body had come from. But she held her tongue, breath hitching as Bull slapped an array of different coloured ropes on the bench beside her.

Their eyes met, a moment of acknowledgement, a nod of consent.

Bull set to binding Eve just how he wanted. He hadn’t done this kind of detailed rope work for a long while, not that he was in a hurry to finish. Half the fun was in the preparation. Eve followed his requests, holding her arms out as he bound her wrists, then against her chest as he wrapped her upper arms. She stayed quiet while he worked. No back chat or even small talk. Just the thripp of rope sliding against rope and the calm lilt of chamber music over the speakers. Once her eyes slipped closed he really studied her, looked at her face as if for the first time. Full slips lightly glossed, a hint of grey-purple eyeshadow. Short bob of red hair framing her face. He thought her quite young back downstairs but now he saw the fine lines at her mouth and eyes that had otherwise been hidden by distance and the dim bar light. So beautiful, her features still and divine. Her body jerked as he pulled and knotted the ropes, chest rising and falling with steady breaths, more pronounced as he bound her tits, pushing them up and out. He stroked one hard nipple hoping to see those rouged lips part. They didn’t. She hummed instead. Content rather than needy. He’d make her needy.

“Do you want to see?” he asked once he had finished. He stepped back, watched her open her eyes.

Pupils dark, smile subtle. She went to dip her head--only to gasp. Bull grinned. She repeated the movement, slowly, moaning out a laugh when she realised what Bull had done.

“You’re wonderfully evil.” Her eyes shone. “How can I admire your work when you’ve put me in this predicament?”

Bull chuckled and stepped forward again. He dragged a finger along the rope, following its path to the end. He put the loose end in her hand then did the same with the other side.

“One of these will loosen the rope around your neck, allow you to move--and breathe a bit easier. But it will tighten around those tits. The other will rub a knot over your clit but tighten around your neck.” He held his hands out. “The choice is yours.”

“Which is which?”

“That would be telling.”

She smirked at Bull, licking her lips, eyes flicking down. She couldn't quite see her hands with her neck in place. He watched with mounting arousal as Eve considered her options.

She pulled gently on the left hand rope and her face twisted in delight and discomfort. She tried to grind her hips, get more friction on her clit but the ropes around her thighs held her legs apart. Her throat bobbed as the rope tightened over her jugular.

“Breathe for me,” he said.

Eve took a long deep breath, letting it out slowly through her nose. Good.

Now she tugged the rope in her right hand, groaning as her already perky tits stuck out even more. She could move her neck now, look down.

“This is amazing,” she whispered.

Pride sparked through Bull, spiking in his groin. He watched, palming himself as Eve proceeded to tug on each of the ropes, tightening around her neck to pleasure her clit, loosening off again to squeeze her tits. Her moaning grew louder, her breathing harder. Bull could loosen the neck knot now, push her onto her back and sink into her, pump away, kiss her sensitive tits and lick her marked throat. But Bull had more restraint than that. He’d just gotten started.

*

All sense of time vanished as Bull teased Eve. He undid some knots completely to tie new ones, shifting her legs and arms so they wouldn’t ache or strain for too long. He blindfolded her, brought her to the edge with his fingers and tongue. Pulled her back with a tug on the rope or a circuit with the Wartenberg wheel. _Those_ groans hit a pitch that set shivers down Bull’s spine. His toes curled as hers curled, her pleasure stoking his. His breathing increased with hers, undoing himself as much as her.

Shit, she really did have staying power. He wanted to wait until she was a quivering mess before entering her but at the rate he was going, he’d be a puddle of the floor first.

“How are you doing?” he asked, giving himself a break as much as her. “Give me a colour.”

“So fucking green.”

“You want to come?”

“Only if you want me to.” She looked him right in the eye.

Fucking hell. He was so damn close himself but he’d be fucked if he came before her. Not that he’d leave her unsatisfied, but him finishing last was a matter of pride and method.

“I want you to,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss her. He kept his lips on hers as he slipped his finger between her legs and rubbed her clit. She moaned, bucked, tried to pull away but Bull held her head against his, whispering to her, _that’s it, that’s it_ into her open mouth.

With the last of her shudders he picked her up and carried her to the bed, lying her down and loosening her ropes. She writhed on the sheets as he rolled on a condom, yowled as he sank into her. He held himself back despite the throbbing in his cock and the nails clawing his back. But he couldn’t last long, pumping into her, losing control as her cunt clenched around his cock.

He emptied himself, holding her tight, seeing stars behind his closed eye. But he didn’t rest long. He gathered the energy to pull out and finish his work. Water first. He held a glass to Eve’s mouth, popping the straw between her lips. He gulped down a glass then began the task of uniting her. Slow and methodical. Relaxing. A calm way to come down from the high.

Finally free, Eve stretched. Bull worked his hands over her, rubbing in oil to ease her sore muscles and marked skin. Nothing too harsh, but he’d keep an eye on the red mark around her neck. Her tits were still sensitive, sore from the rope, marked, too. He was as gentle as he could be, reading her body now just as much as he had before, looking for signs of discomfort--or pleasure.

Satisfied, he let her go and sagged against the pillows, closing his eye. The bed dipped but he was too tired to follow Eve across the room. He rolled his neck, glad for the pop pops releasing the tension from his tendons. Christ all mighty. He hadn’t done a scene that long in ages. Soon enough the bathroom door opened and he watched Eve wander through to the kitchenette and grab a couple of bottles from the fridge. Her hips swayed in the most delectable manner as she walked back to the bed.

“How can you still walk straight after that?” Bull asked, taking the bottle offered to him. Sparkling water. Some gin wouldn’t go amiss but the bottle was all the way over there and he was all the way over here. Still, refreshing. The bubbles fizzed over his tongue.

Eve climbed in beside him. “Maybe you’ll need to try harder next time.” She smirked as she put the bottle to her lips.

 _Next time_. Did she really think there’d be a next time? From the way she settled down and burped she looked like she’d already moved in. The rope marks had almost faded from her wrists and ankles but a few red marks still dug around her thighs. And what thighs they were.

If she wasn’t walking funny or otherwise completely exhausted, then he couldn’t have given his all. His head rolled to the side, looking her up and down. She’d removed her makeup while she’d been in the bathroom and her face didn’t look at all tired. Damn. He’d have to up his game. Couldn’t let her leave without a thorough fucking. His reputation was on the line.

He lay his hand on the sheets between them. She rolled her head over to stare at him.

“Hey. You wanna rest here awhile? Give me another chance to make you properly weak at the knees?” he asked.

She regarded him a moment, eyeing him over. “Yeah. Sounds good. I’m not much of a snuggler so don’t be offended if I don’t cling to you.”

“Maybe I’m not a snuggler either.”

“Hmm. No, I think you are. At heart, you’re a big softie who just wants someone to love him.”

Bull snorted but looked away, not wanting to subject himself to Eve’s scrutiny any longer.

Once they’d finished their drinks, Bull shuffled off to the bathroom. By the time he slipped back into bed, Eve had curled over, her back to him, asleep. He lay back, letting sleep claim him too. He’d give her more soon enough.

~**~

“They should’ve finished by now. What’s taking her so long?”

“Have you ever had sex in your life? Give her a chance. Takes time to work down someone like the Bull. My God, that man.”

“Yes, all right, Dorian. Still, we should check up on her. Ideas? Vivienne? Perhaps we could try the old room service trick.”

“My dear, unless we bribe my delightful young Lace then we have no free agents. Anyway, we’ve got our eyes on the exits. He’s not leaving without us knowing. Let them have fun. And Nightingale, darling, do have some faith in Eve.”

“Fine. We shall continue to do this your way.”

~**~

Bull stretched, sleep trying to tug him back under. His arm fell to the side, palm down, inching out for the body he’d fallen asleep next to. Nothing. Cold sheets. He sat up, wiping his eye and looking around, panicking. Fuck. If she’d taken the case… she wouldn’t though. Couldn’t know about it.

“Hey, you’re awake.”

He turned over, sheet slipping down his chest. Eve sat in a chair, her crossed legs giving a tantalising view up her robe. She held the room service menu in one hand a teacup in the other.

“You’re a heavy sleeper. You want tea? Coffee?” She set the menu and cup down, walked over to the kitchen counter.

Bull made some noise approximating a request for tea then flopped back. How was he so fucked? Too much tension. Work shouldn’t be doing this to him. Not here. He shook away the dreams, memories of Gatt staring at him disbelief, bodies on the floor going cold as Eve handed him a tea. She lost her robe and slipped between the sheets.

“I. Am. Famished.” She picked up the menu, studying it as she sipped her tea. “I don’t care what time it is, I want pancakes. You?” She looked at Bull.

“Uh…”

“Huh. I took you for a morning person.” She cupped his face in her palm, brushing her thumb over his lip, hot and wet from the tea. “Order some food. Then we’ll shower.”

Bull smirked, catching up finally. “Yes ma’am.”

She laughed, smacking him with the menu as she handed it over. “None of that now.”

Bull scanned the menu then called both orders through. Eve didn’t seem inclined to further conversation as she drank her tea. To really look at her he had to sit on an angle to make up for his lost eye. He couldn’t see any lasting marks or bruises from their earlier encounter. Just as well. He wondered how the Magister was holding up. He’d have to check in with him when he made it back downstairs. Eventually.

Eve set her cup down. “Shower? Or tidy up?”

Bull surveyed the room. Not too debauched. Rope already coiled back up. Clothes out the way. He stared at Eve as she walked towards the bathroom. Hot damn.

“Shower.” He pulled the covers back, appreciating the long look she gave him as he sauntered forward. With his hands on her shoulders he walked her backwards, flipping the shower on and kicking the door shut.

*

Bull startled a little when he opened the door to see Lace balancing a tray on each hand.

“Room service?” She grinned all toothy, looked Bull up and down, eyes going wide for a moment.

“Like what you see, huh?” Bull took the trays from Lace, wandering away to set them down on the table. When he turned back he caught her peering around the room but not taking in the furniture. Looking for someone.

“Don’t be so nosey.” He joked but he made sure his body filled the door frame as he walked back to hand Lace her tip. She winked, wished Bull the best of luck and toddled off down the hall.

Bull shut the door with a frown, unease creeping through him. Lace worked the bar, not the rooms. Even if Celene was short-staffed she wouldn’t get Lace carrying room service. The clatter of cutlery against china jogged him back. Right. Food.

“You always answer the door naked?” Eve asked, pointing her fork at Bull.

“Got nothing to be ashamed of,” he replied, shaking his hips before taking a seat.

She gave his plate a sceptical stare. Just toast and fruit. After a few minutes of silent eating she spoke up, wanting to know what Bull was thinking.

 _Thinking about why I feel like I’m being watched._ He didn’t say that, of course. Couldn’t. But the unease was there. Varric, the dwarf, keeping his eye on Bull. Lace, short bartender, peering into his room just now. The wink from Madame de Fer. The questions from the Magister. Fuck. Must be getting paranoid.

“Just thinking about the best way to make you speechless and leave you with a limp.” He purred, setting her with his most seductive grin. And there was the blush.

“Talk me through it.” She leant forward, setting her knife and fork down. Her tits looked gorgeous, nipples half hard in the cool room. Tits perfect for another binding in rope. Run some ice over those nipples, get them achingly hard then seal his hot lips over them.

He ran through his plan for her, drawing a finger over her skin, tracing the path of imaginary rope. She shivered, uncrossing her legs as Bull toyed with the hair between her them.

“Better make a start.” She pushed the empty plates back and stood, hand on a cocked out hip.

Lust surged through Bull as he picked her up, held her high enough to bury his face between those tits as he carried her back to the bench.

*

Both Bull and Eve staggered onto the bed, sweat drenched and panting. The sheets soaked up the damp and cooled their fiery skin. He rolled over to look Eve over, taking her hands in his. She stared at him half lidded and dozy.

“You’re too good to be true,” she said, voice a little hoarse.

Bull massaged her fingers, kissing the tips. “You’re exactly who I need.”

They lay together, definitely more snuggly this time despite Eve’s earlier proclamations against such arrangements.

The room stank. Their bodies stuck to each other and the sheets. Bull didn’t care. His skin buzzed.

Eve leant over, picking something off the nightstand. A joint. She handed it Bull. He pursed his lips. Ah, why not. Not like they’d go again, surely. Anyway his time was almost up. Best not to think about it. Just enjoy the company, he told himself. Fuck knows when he’d be back here. He sucked on the joint as she let the lighter up to him. If anything it made the room smell better.

Sleep didn’t come to either of them, content enough to enjoy each other’s silence and body heat as sweet pungent smoke filled the room.

Bull’s earlier unease had long since melted away, replaced first with the task of tease and denial and now with a wonderful post-coital daze and the satisfaction of a job well done. Nothing to worry about. Except his raging thirst. He pushed Eve up against the pillows, leaving her with the last dregs of the joint and padded over to the kitchen. Little woozy on the feet. Fuck, when’d last been high?

“Don’t go, Hissrad.”

Bull froze. How did she know his name?

“You can’t go back. You must know that.”

He turned to Eve, glaring at her. How dare she--

“I know what happened. Moscow will know by now too.” She sounded genuinely fearful.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He spoke low and measured, concentrating on every word.

“Yes you do. Gatt will tell Moscow everything.”

Bull’s mind reeled, flipping from Gatt’s potential betrayal to the pleading coming from Eve. Just how much did she know about him?

She sat up, not bothering with the sheet. Bull twisted, neck craning as he focused on her every move. “They won’t forgive you this time, won’t re-educate you--despite the case. You killed your own men. Doesn’t matter who shot first. You know how Moscow works, especially with their own. The best you can hope for is a Siberian exile, maybe hard labour.” Her voice hitched. “Firing squad is your most likely outcome.”

“Who are you?” he growled. No point playing dumb now. She clearly wasn’t some slut who’d been placed to go through his wallet while he slept.

“Yvette Trevelyan. MI6.” She didn’t blink.

Bull stared back, disbelieving.

“The Magister, Madame de Fer, that dwarf Varric? My guys.”

“No. That’s not possible.”

“They’re spies, Hissrad. Like me. Like _you_.”

Bull’s stomach lurched, threatening to rise up his throat. He staggered over the sink, hands shaking as the water flooded the sink. The glass slipped out of his grasp, clattering on the counter before he got a solid grip on it and downed the water. Did nothing to settle him.

He leant on the counter, glaring at Eve. She hadn’t moved.

“What do you want from me?” he demanded, his voice hoarse, rough.

Eve sat up, inched her way to the edge of the bed, still naked, still gorgeous. “We want _you_.”

He shook his head, stepped back like he could escape the next words coming out of her mouth.

“Come to London.”

“Never.”

“You’ll be hunted if you stay here. We can give you protection--freedom, even.”

“And I’ll give you all my intel,” he snapped. “Some embassy will become my prison. That’s not freedom.”

Eve didn’t reply. Bull couldn’t stand to look at her. He’d been played. Well and truly. How the fuck had he let that happen? He clenched his fist, rage boiling up inside. He could kill her. Right here, right now. Might not be silent but that didn’t matter. Dump the body and run. Catch the first train east. He stalked to the door, pressed his face up to the peep hole. No one. But that didn’t mean no one was watching. Shit, she had three guys out there at least. He wouldn’t even reach the lobby before they’d take him down. He’d end up in London whether he liked it or not.

He turned to her. She looked so small in that massive bed, sheets all rumpled, room service trays on the table, empty glasses and wine bottles on the floor. A sprinkling of weed peppered the bedside table next to a bottle of lube. Condom packets everywhere, rope coiled up on a chair. She hadn’t moved. Her eyes were hard though, the only thing that gave away her real identity. Everything else, the dishevelled hair, smudged makeup, oil and sweat-stained skin spoke of a woman who’d just been fucked to ecstasy by the only man who could make her feel that way. Fucking _bitch_.

(Art by [dinojay](http://dinojay.tumblr.com/post/119384848175/eve-trevelyan-mi5-6-for-this-years-dragon-age))

“People have tried to turn me before,” he said, stalking back over. She followed his eye, never breaking contact. He loomed over her, aware his cock was in prime punching position but he was prepared to take the risk. “London has tried to turn me. Do you know what I’ve done to those spies? Those double agents, those disloyal pricks?”

She tilted her chin up. “You killed them.” No emotion. No fear. Straight and level. “ _I_ had to tell their wives that they died in serving their Queen and country.”

Bull huffed. MI6 should know better than to hire guys with dependents. “So what is this? Vengeance? It sure as shit isn’t an arrest.”

“It’s not vengeance. There’s no arrest. No strings. We want _you_. You’ve been doubting Moscow for a long time now, Hissrad. This fucked up mission was the last straw for you. Your leaders have been taking too many risks, making alliances you don’t approve of. But you’re not paid to care about that. You’re paid to watch and listen. You don’t want that life anymore and now you can’t go back. So what are you going to do? Stay loyal to a country that will kill you for your life time’s work? Or come to a country who will embrace you, make you their son.” She spoke without blinking, measured, calm. Shit, she was good. How could she have such a clear head after all they’d done? Bull’s ached, pain creeping up his neck, digging behind his eyes.

He broke eye contact, stepped away.

“There’s a ticket and passport in a safe downstairs.” She gave the number and code. “Decide tomorrow.” She shuffled back to the middle of the bed, stretched out, limbs taut. “We’ve got hours till then. Come on. You’re not done.”

Shit, she was serious, she wanted to go another round after just dumping a bomb onto his lap.

He climbed back onto the bed, settled himself over her, pinning her hips with his waist. He took both her hands in one of his and pressed them above her head. His free hand rested on her throat. She tilted her head back, giving him more access. He pressed, lightly.

“You trust me? Now, after all you’ve said? You must be crazy.” He pressed harder, feeling her throat tighten against his palm. A flicker passed her eyes, lips parted.

“I trust you’ll do the right thing.” She groaned, writhing under him. Not an escape attempt--a _writhe_.

“You want me to press harder?” He stroked her neck with his thumb, increasing the pressure.

“Yellow,” she croaked.

The stared at each other, a conversation played out through nuance. He could press down, damn them all, and go out in a blaze of gunfire and glory. Or he could lift his hand off her throat.

Her eyes slipped closed, lips moving, short huffs.

He let go of her, sitting up, hands stinging from the contact. Fuck. He wouldn’t lose himself to this madness.

“Let’s fuck. Nothing complicated. Just you and me. One last round.” Eve tried to free her hands but Bull still held them tight. “Come on. Let me go.”

Too much. Bull’s world had shattered around him. All he had left were a handful of hours and a naked woman in his bed. Bull let go, sat on the edge of the bed, back bowed, head in his hands. The mattress dipped behind him as Eve shifted. Her hands pressed into his shoulders, digging her fingers into the knots down his back.

“I’ll be gone in the morning,” she said, kissing his neck.

Bull snapped, turning and pinning her again. “Not if I tie you to the bed.”

A smile flickered across Eve’s lips. “That would make you a very bad Dom and the Bull is the best there is.”

~**~

“Well?”

A shrug. “I’ve done my best. The rest is up to him.”

“What about the case? If you didn’t get him, you must have gotten the case.”

“I trust he’ll make the right decision. Come on. We’ve got a train to catch.”

~**~

Bull woke with a start, adrenaline pumping. He looked around, rubbing his eye. Silence. His phone read 6.24 am. With the energy burst, he looked around again. Everything of Eve’s was gone. Like she hadn’t even been here with him. Bull shot to his feet. The case. If she had the case… He flung the wardrobe door open, tearing his suit and shirts aside, flinging the pillows and bags out to check. His hands found smooth leather. Still there, undisturbed. He held the case to his ear and shook it. Not empty. He dropped it and fell back on his haunches. She hadn’t taken it. She knew about it and she hadn’t taken it. Hadn’t even gone looking. Fuck. She _trusted_ him. If their positions had been reversed he’d have ransacked the room, not left until he had the case. Sure, he might’ve been the bigger prize but after his reaction last night, how did she trust him to follow?

Shit, what was he thinking? He hadn’t decided to go to London. Hadn’t even decided if he’d go back to Moscow.

He cleaned up his room the best he could, making the job easier for housekeeping. With his gear all packed and his bag zipped up, he grabbed the case. He sat it on the counter, just staring at it. Secrets or sawdust. That’s what it would contain.

Time to go.

Down in the main club guests milled around, drinking, eating, watching. Bull scanned the crowd, looking for someone in particular. Not at his usual table. Not at the bar. Not in the bathroom. The little fucker couldn’t’ve just left, surely.

“Hey, Lace.” Bull pulled up a stool, gave his most genuine smile.

“Morning Bull. Breakfast Bloody Mary?”

“You know me so well.”

He drummed his fingers on the bar, watching Lace make the drink. No other customers waiting. He leant in.

“Who sent you up yesterday?”

She shifted on her feet, looking away.

“Come on, Lace. I need to know.”

She held her hands up. “He just said that since I knew you, I’d be in a good position to see if she was okay. Just told me to take your order up and look around. Didn’t even work. I couldn’t see her.”

“Who’s ‘he’?”

“Our guy, the dwarf.”

Bull looked around. The guy’s usual table was empty. “Where is he now?”

Lace set the glass in front of Bull, lips pursed as she thought.

“Left about… an hour ago. Tipped me nice!”

Damn. “What about the Magister?” When Lace rubbed her hands together, brows furrowed, Bull leant back. “I’m not pissed with you, okay? You and me, we’re good. Seems like we’ve both been had and I’m just trying to get the bottom of it.”

Lace nodded, smile creeping back.

Bull raised his eyebrow “The Magister?”

“Oh, right. The fire breathing guy? He’s hot. Uh, he left yesterday. Little bird told me you got to have a round with him. What’s he like?” She leant forward on her elbows, chin resting in her palms, looking all dreamy.

“Ah, Lace. You know I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Spoilsport.” She huffed, standing up and wiping the bar. Her smirk told Bull she wasn’t really annoyed. She knew the drill.

One last shot. “Madame de Fer? She still around?”

“Oh sure. She’ll be here somewhere. Not due in today though.”

He couldn’t very well interrogate her anyway. If she supplied information to London, then who else did she have on her books?

He finished his drink and pulled out his wallet. Thumbing through the notes, he took out a wad and handed it to Lace. She shook her head, saying it was too much. He left the cash on the bar.

“Take it. I don’t know when I’ll next be back. Look after yourself, Lace.”

She reached out for the cash, frowning. When she looked up at Bull, her lip wobbled. “That sounds like a serious goodbye.”

Bull sighed. “Could well be.”

He picked up the case and his bag, leaving the bar without a backwards glance. He checked out with no fuss, only earning a raised eyebrow from Ms. Montilyet as he relinquished the tenancy on the semi-permanent room in the only place he’d ever called home.

One last stop.

He stood in the vault, surrounded by safes. Some bigger than others. Shoebox sized, right up to person sized. Could fit a lot of gear in one of these. He scanned the numbers, switching his attention back and forth between two safes in particular. Both contained train tickets and passports. Both continued futures unknown. Only one promised something akin to freedom. The other, well. Had Hissrad ever been free?

He made his decision, unlocked the safe, grabbed the contents and strode out into the dull Amsterdam morning.

*

Ah, first class was always nice. Hissrad sank back into his seat, took a sip of wine despite the time. The train rolled out of Amsterdam Centraal and as he looked out the window he tried not to think about what he was giving up. He caught glimpses, snapshots of lives he’d never live. Parents walking their kids to school. Men and women dressed in suits and ties heading into the office. Taxi drivers and tour buses all lined up for a day of work.

“Good morning, sir.”

Hissrad pulled his attention away from the window to look up the conductor. The genteel old guy smiled down at him, hands clasped together, all meek. Bull held out his ticket. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Ball. I trust you will have a pleasant journey with us today, but please. Do let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your trip more comfortable.”

A couple of women in this booth wouldn’t go amiss. “No, thank you.”

“Very well sir. We shall be arriving into London St. Pancras in six hours and thirty seven minutes. I am to tell you that a Miss Yvette Trevelyan shall meet you at the platform.” The conductor gave a bow and shuffled off to his next customer.

Hissrad smiled, tucking his ticket back in his pocket. Ian Ball. What a fucking stupid name.

 


End file.
